War Metal Tyrant: Bloodlust
by Dusk Raven
Summary: The tale of a Raider soldier, as he becomes infected by the Bloodthirsty and becomes one of their commanders, retaining his mind and gaining the ravenous desires of the Bloodthirsty horde...
Mask's life was quite clearly divided into two parts.

The first part had been one of strife. He was the child of Asphodelian exiles, who had been sentenced to the prison of Kor and its barren surroundings for the crime of their leaders' refusal to submit to the so-called Empire. Mask had borne life's hardships with optimism and endurance, but inside he harbored a deep resentment towards the Imperials who had decreed that his life be one of unjust suffering.

The leader of the people of Kor, former Asphodelian prince Typhon Vex, had a grand vision, one of glory and vengeance. Mask shared in that vision, that desire for a better future. It was with gusto that he took up a rifle and made a name for himself as a sniper, raiding Imperial convoys and outposts in the Sulfuris Swamps. It was there he first learned took on the role as hunter… and first encountered _them._ The form of life known as the Bloodthirsty.

They were everywhere in the swamps, watching and waiting. On a mission to attack an Imperial outpost deep in the fetid heart of the swamps, he felt he was being watched. All the way, his company was shadowed by the Sulfuris Sentries, Imperial soldiers who had marched into the swamps and never returned. Now they lurked in the darkness, in blackened and bloodstained armor, always fading out of sight when one looked at them.

All except one, deep in the night, as Mask stood guard over the Raider camp as they risked rest before the attack. It stood between gnarled trees, scrutinizing him, even as Mask noticed and readied his weapon. He stared into the abyss, and from the abyss something stared back. Though its eyes were hidden beneath a masked helmet, its gaze was felt all the same. It stood at a distance, weapon drawn but at ease, calmly scrutinizing him as he stared back. Though Mask was on guard, he did not shoot or raise the alarm. After a few long moments, the fallen soldier stepped back into the night, never turning its gaze from him before it vanished into the darkness.

He didn't know what it was, but something inside him saw something behind the mask, behind the unseen eyes. The sensation was too fleeting, the look too vague for him to react in any but the most basic ways – fear. There was something dark, something powerful, something deadly behind those eyes, and it scared him.

The Bloodthirsty continued to watch, as the Raiders attacked the Imperial camp. Though the camp was well-fortified to defend against the Bloodthirsty, it soon fell to Raider guile, aggression, and high explosives. The victorious Raiders plundered the camp and began to leave. The Bloodthirsty scarcely waited before gathering to the ruins of the outpost, like crows to corpses, feasting upon the dead and dying. But they did not content themselves to feeding on the defeated, and they struck as the Raiders left the walls of the outpost. All manner of creatures assailed them, from the skulking Sentries to mutated wildlife, to twisted abominations that defied description and once only existed in nightmares, with claws and limbs that didn't belong, in shapes impossible for natural beings. The attack was intense, but short, and the Bloodthirsty withdrew as quickly as they came, leaving only blood and corpses.

Deep down, Mask knew what was going on. They were observing this strange behavior amongst their prey, letting the new faction fight the old, before moving in to test the mettle of the newcomers for themselves. The Raiders were not found wanting.

Though his skill was great amongst the Raider warriors, he did not join Typhon in attacking the Imperial homeland, for he was drawn to another commander named Yurich, one who had a less vengeful stance but held a deep concern for his comrades, and for this was left behind in Kor in favor of more vicious commanders.

Soon, Typhon returned in defeat, though not without damage dealt, and the Imperials followed with vengeful intent. Then, the Imperial forces struck at the heart of the Raiders' territory, Kor itself. This suited Mask just fine, as defensive fighting suited his style, and seemed more heroic to him. Standing on Kor's walls, sniping elite troops or exposed vehicle parts was precisely the fighting he had dreamed of. And soon, the Imperials revealed themselves to be no less cruel than the Raider offensive force, but cold and calculating in contrast to the Raiders' white-hot rage. The Imperials methodically attacked noncombatants, without question and without feeling, seeking to purge any who might resist.

In this time of need, Kor's leader took his most loyal soldiers and fled north, to seek the ancient, mysterious, and powerful Nexus structure in the Blightlands. But when all seemed lost for the remaining Raiders, the unthinkable happened – a group split off from the Imperial force, headed by Katana, one of the top Imperial commanders. Shocked by the attacks on civilians, she and her followers stood with the defending Raiders, defending the weak and helpless as though they were their own people. Yurich and Katana reached an agreement – to end the bloodshed, the maniacal Typhon, once the hero of Asphodel and Kor, had to be brought to justice. And together with their loyal troops, they set off in pursuit into the swamps.

The journey took them through one of the most hostile areas on a planet, where they were harried by Imperial loyalists, Bloodthirsty predators, and the noxious terrain. Carving their way through man and beast alike, their journey reached a tunnel through the mountains, but Mask did not follow them – for his leg had been crippled by a Bloodthirsty hound, which had flanked him as he sought high ground away from the ravening horde. Hobbled, he volunteered to stay behind, alone but for his rifle, as the rest of the united force moved through the tunnels.

Perched upon a ridge overlooking the tunnel entrance, Mask fired round after round at the approaching pack, killing any who tried to enter the tunnel. But this only bought precious minutes, for they wasted no time hunting for him, and quickly converged on his sniping roost. Against him, no human soldier would have dared to charge out into the open for fear of being the first to be sniped, but the Bloodthirsty were different - they charged as one, with no fear of death. Against all odds, he placed shot after well-placed shot into the pack, from the smallest amongst them to a beast twice his height. And after the wave lay dead, forming a chain that ended mere meters from his position, close enough to see the fire leave the beast's eyes, he allowed himself a moment of respite.

It was only after that moment that he felt the presence of the beast behind him, heard the slow deliberate exhale of hot air onto his neck. For a moment he sat frozen in fear, then realized it was toying with him. Waiting for him to make his move. It was then that he reached slowly towards his belt, and gripped a grenade – his last recourse.

Mask didn't quite know what it was, but in that moment of terror, there was clarity. And he wondered, idly, how it was that humans were so disunited, so forever at war with themselves and struggling with the very land… and yet the Bloodthirsty were so united. So driven, so dedicated, so passionate, so _vibrant._

His grip on the grenade went slack, and then from behind, a talon reached out and casually pried it out of his grip. He turned his head to face it, and stared into the narrowed eyes of a Bloodthirsty beast, with a darkened hide and the sleek yet powerful build of a predator. He saw in those eyes feral intent, but also a consciousness, a purpose that could only be described as primal. And as he stared, he not only knew that was this beast staring into his flesh, but that a mind beyond it, beyond any human's, was staring into his soul.

It was the longest moment he could recall experiencing. And at the end of that moment, the beast's head suddenly snapped forward and closed its jaws around his throat.

Though Mask's flesh was torn, his blood spilled, his life did not end. Instead, his flesh and soul became something else. Thus ended Mask's time "before," dividing his memories in two. His memories between were dreams, or perhaps visions, of alien landscapes and monstrous beasts, but instead of horror he felt awe. Respect. And between the sights came sensations, feelings, desires. A powerful impulse to feed, to fight… but above all else, to live.

As time passed, he began to sense other desires alongside his, other lives. But one was dominant above all, and it made contact with him, in a fashion unknown to human minds – by means of one soul eclipsing another, like floodwaters overtaking and absorbing a puddle. But Mask kept resolute, holding on to his soul. Amused and intrigued, the presence pressed closer, but he endured. It was like standing on the beach, neck-deep in water, feeling water flow around him, not resisting but not being swept away by the waves.

It was not memories of his old life that bound him. It was his own desires, his own instincts. The message to the great presence was simple – he would not be at the mercy of the tide… but neither would he fight it. He would swim with it. This resolution continued as the psychic pressure intensified, with enough force to overwhelm lesser beings. But he endured, only growing stronger from the pain on his soul.

And then he awoke. He briefly reflected on what had happened, before marveling at the changes to his body and mind. His shattered leg and shredded throat were whole, stronger than ever, and he could feel a pleasant burn as his bones and muscled changed, growing more powerful with his new superior biology. But the changes to his mind were even more remarkable. He could feel the emotions and very sensations of countless others, other creatures mutated and empowered as he was. He had a new set of instincts and desires driven into him, impulses he had no wish to fight, callings from a primal force far greater than he – but he would follow them as he saw fit. Kill, spread, feed, _live._

He reached out, not with his flesh but with his will, and touched a mind amongst the swarm. He called it to him, willing it to come towards him, making his will its own. And from the gully below him, where Bloodthirsty even now feasted on the dead, one beast lifted its head and approached him. Quadrupedal, but with powerful arms that ended in wicked talons. Its gaunt, long skull held jagged teeth and keen eyes, eyes that once were narrowed in assessment and judgement, but now held reverence. It came to him and lifted its head, baring its throat in deference. Mask rose to his feet and reached a hand out to it, brushing its chin with his fingers before running them along the armored scales atop its head. He smiled slightly, feeling the bond between them only strengthen at his touch. This was the beast that had ended his previous, meager existence and brought him into this new life, and it seemed fitting that this would be the first bond he made. Together they turned towards a corpse on the ground, some flesh yet uneaten. A primal hunger filled him, and he quickly worked to sate it.

For, after all, now he was Bloodthirsty.


End file.
